10 Things I Hate About You
by skittles324
Summary: A cute lil fanfic about Kat and Patrick, and the 10 reasons Kat hates him. Summary stinks, I know lol-TO BE LEFT UNCOMPLETED! SORRY!
1. Prologue

10 Things I Hate About You

1. I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair

2. I hate the way you drive my car

3. I hate it when you stare

4. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind

5. I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme

6. I hate the way you're always right

7. I hate it when you lie

8. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry

9. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call

10. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, not even close…not even a little bit…not even at all.

* * *

_okay so...this is basically a fanfic about TV Kat and Patrick, not movie Kat and Patrick. I'm just using the poem from the movie. So each chapter is just gonna be a reason and a cute lil fun story. its not really a combo of one-shots it really is a story. I do have a warning though...I'm a really slow writer so it may take awhile to get chapters up and all so just bare with me lol._

_**DISCLAIMER:** absolutely no characters belong to me, and neither does the poem or storyline, ect._


	2. The Way You Talk To Me & Cut Your Hair

#1 - _"I hate the way to talk to me..."_

It's Monday morning. I'm in a car with my popular-crazed little sister, listening to the stripper-singing Pussycat Doll's, "When I Grow Up."

Shoot me.

I stop at a red light and look over at my younger sister, Bianca. She's putting on lip gloss—typical Bianca. She's two years younger than me, a sophomore, and wants nothing more than to be a cheerleader. For now though she has to deal with being the school mascot: Percival the Penguin. She's nice enough, but totally shallow. Most of the time.

"Kat. Green." She looks over at me with a perfectly plucked blonde eyebrow raised, mouth open, her lip-gloss brush an inch or so from her already overly-glossed bottom lip.

I shake out of my stupor and push the gas pedal down on my old, beat-up car. Now I have to admit it, I love my car. She's my little baby. She was a gift from my dad when I got my license. Of course, for weeks afterward I'd had to endure countless lectures and videos on drunk driving and its victims, but it was worth it. I named her Jude from the song "Hey Jude" by The Beatles. At first I was going to name her Rhonda from the song "Help Me, Rhonda" from The Beach Boys but my mom had liked the Beatles better, and since she was the one who got me into the tradition of naming cars, Jude it was.

I pull into the school parking lot just as the radio changes to "Womanizer" by Britney Spears. I never thought I'd say this but…thank God we're at school. I pull into a parking spot and check my mirrors, when who should I happen to see? _Hmm. Speaking of womanizer…._

Patrick Verona, school "bad-boy" and typical womanizing male, parks his black motorcycle right next to my precious Jude. I look over and glare at him as he takes his helmet off, shaking out his curly hair, and throws me a smirk. _Cheeky bastard._

"Kat, let's go! Your slow driving almost made us late for first period!"

I look through the windshield to see Bianca already on the sidewalk, hands on her hips. I look over to glare at Patrick one more time, but he's gone.

Whatever.

I step out of Jude, messenger bag in hand, and slam the door behind me. I start to walk to where Bianca once stood, (she's already gone, most likely to go talk to the head-cheerleader Chastity and score some points as lap-dog,) when I feel a hand on my hip.

I instantly spin around and prepare to slap whoever _dared_ to touch me when I hear him laugh. I'm just about to smack Patrick across the face when he grabs my wrist and holds it as he leans down close to my face and says, "Morning, baby."

"Don't call me 'baby,'" I say as I pull my wrist from his grip and turn back around, away from him.

I can hear him laugh as I walk toward the building, shoving my way past countless numbers of stupid, stereotypical, hormone-driven teenagers in order to get to my locker.

I can't help but think of him as I push through the crowd. Patrick Verona. Verona, Patrick. A womanizing bastard if even I saw one. I've been at this school for more than a month now, and every day I see him with a new girl. And every one of 'em is your typical slutty girl; with her too-short skirt, low-cut tank top and too-glossy lips. It's like their all clones of each other, the same girl over and over, except this one has blonde hair instead of brown, or tanner skin than the girl the day before. It drives me insane. I wish I could say, "What do they see in him?" but the truth is I know…unfortunately. His motorcycle gives him the allusion of being cool and dangerous, (note: _allusion_) and if his rumored "cannibalism" didn't put points on the "scare-daddy-meter" nothing else would. Of course, he didn't look half bad either; with his brown-black curly locks, piercing chocolate eyes, and sexy smirk. Sometimes I actually have to remember why I hate guys like him in the first place. Don't worry, though, I never forget for long. He's always constantly pushing my buttons, seeing how far he can go. I've had to pull my taser out more than enough times, but he keeps coming back for more. I just thank my lucky stars I only see him before and after school, and during lunch. Oh, and of course in my 7th period Physics class, my last class of the day. He surprisingly keeps up a regular attendance. Usually with guys like him you'd expect him to be late all the time or just skip altogether. But no. He's there. Everyday. With me. Just one row behind, two rows over.

Mandella, my best friend, is leaning against my locker when I finally reach it. "You're late," she says, her mouth full of chocolate muffin.

"I know. Bianca took forever getting ready this morning," I reply as she moves, handing me a piece of the muffin in the process.

I smile in thanks and pop the chocolate-y goodness into my mouth as I spin my combo into the lock. It melts in my mouth as I grab my books for my next two classes, Calculus and Economics.

As Mandella and I walk down the hall to first period Calc, she begins to explain this episode of _Dateline_ she saw last night, and I can't help but tune her out as I see Patrick with another clone down the hall. She's clinging to his arm and he's smiling down at her.

As if feeling my eyes on him, he looks up and smirks over at me. I glare back. I turn and open up the door to the classroom. I'm about to walk in when I see him wink at me. I stop in my tracks, frozen.

"Thanks," Mandella says as she walks ahead of me into class, thinking I stopped so that she could go ahead of me.

I watch him chuckle under his breath and turn back to the clone. I can't help but huff and glare at him (again) and walk into the classroom.

Mrs. Bellman is working out a few problems from last night's homework on the board as I take my seat behind Mandella. I can't help but sigh as I lean forward and place my chin in my hand. _Just another typical day._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He walks up to me after school as I'm on my way to my locker. "So where were you at lunch, sweetheart? I was gonna go for a ride on my bike and I was wondering if you wanted to come?" He smirks over at me and raises his eyebrows suggestively.

"Ugh. Thanks, but no thanks. And don't call me 'sweetheart,'" I say as I walk past him.

He catches up.

"Aw, come on honey, I know you wanna take a ride with me."

"Oh you've caught me. I _want_ you. I _need_ you. Oh baby, oh baby," I say in my best sarcastic voice. "Oh and by the way, _darling_, I have a name."

"Yeah, I know pretty-kitty. It's just more fun this way don't you think?"

He laughs.

I seethe.

I ignore him as I walk up to my locker. He follows, predictably. He's actually quiet for once, almost thoughtful, as he leans against the locker next to mine, staring into space. He's so out of it I almost think I can sneak away (not that I would want to sneak away, Katarina Stratford does not "sneak away" from anything) unnoticed when he smiles over at me.

"So where exactly _were_ you today, sugar?" he asks as we walk toward the student parking lot.

"Well, _muffin_, I really don't think that's any of your business. Do you?"

"No," he shrugs, his smile still in place.

To be honest, I was in the library, studying for the big Physics' test next Monday (Physics isn't my best class, it pays to start studying a week before the test) but it's not like I was going to tell _him_ that.

We reach Bianca and Jude by this point. Bianca notices me walking with Patrick, me mortal enemy, and silently gives me a mischievous smile and raises her eyebrow in question, but wisely chooses to keep her mouth shut and get into the car.

"Well. It's been fun babe, see you tomorrow," he says walking over to his bike and putting on his helmet, throwing me a look as he does the latter. I can't help but smile, (on the inside) knowing what the look is for. I never miss an opportunity to point out to him that he should be wearing his helmet while riding his bike.

_It's been fun babe, see you tomorrow._ Ugh, stupid Patrick and his stupid pet names. I fume as I get into the front seat of my car, throwing on the thunderous ignition.

I HATE the way he talks to me.

* * *

#1B - _"...and the way you cut your hair."_

Another day, another seven hours in teenage wasteland. Black Eyed Peas', "Boom, Boom, Pow" plays at almost full blast on the old car stereo, Bianca singing along at the top of her lungs.

"BOOM BOOM BOOM!!!" she laughs as the song ends and turns the volume down to background noise as the commercials come on. "I still can't believe I was able to get 20 bucks off of Dad! I mean, the puppy dog eyes haven't worked in _years_! Either way, now I can tell Chastity I can go shopping with her and Dawn after school on Friday!"

I myself couldn't believe the atrocity of my sister getting money to go shopping as well. After all, twenty dollars wasn't going to buy Bianca popularity and that money could have gone to a much better cause, like saving the naked mole rats for instance.

By the time I pull into a parking spot, Bianca is still visualizing how her trip with Chastity is going to go. At this point, she's really just talking to herself. I turn off the car and both Bianca and I stop out onto the pavement.

"You comin'?" she asks, noticing I'm not walking toward the school with her.

I lean against Jude as I shake my head in the negative. "Nah, Mandella texted me last night saying she was gonna meet me here instead of our lockers."

"Oh. Okay. See you later."

I pull out the book I'm supposed to be reading for English class, _The Catcher in the Rye_ by J. D. Salinger. It's an okay book. I'm about half-way through it, and, most likely, most of the kids in my class haven't even picked it up. Teenagers these days. And back in those days too, I suppose. See, _Catcher_'s about this sixteen year old boy named Holden Caulfield and he's a "typical-all-American-boy" in the 1940's. All he thinks about is sex, his dead brother, and how crazy he is. He's always talking about random topics and getting off subjects. It can get pretty annoying. But whatever, I have to read it to pass English, so I am. I just finish the part where a prostitute and her pimp steal five bucks from Holden, when I hear a familiar sound.

I look up from the book to see his motorcycle pull into the parking lot and head straight for me, or, more likely, the empty parking space next to me. It takes the same amount of time for him to cross the lot, for me to realize he's not wearing his helmet.

My scowl is firmly in place when he turns off the bike and looks over at me, a knowing smile on his lips. "Mornin', Precious. Sleep well?"

"You really should be wearing a helmet, ya know," I snap at him.

"I'll take that as a 'no,'" he laughs.

My scowl deepens. "Seriously, if you got into an accident, you could sustain severe injuries." Hey, you don't come away from five hours of video clips of car-crash victims with nothing.

"Aw, that's sweet. You're worried about me. Don't worry pumpkin, I'll be alright."

"Actually I'm worried about the people _you'd _hurt. And can we drop the pet-names please?"

"Sure gumdrop. But only 'cause you said please," he chuckles and winks at me.

Something very akin to a growl emits from my throat.

He smirks and begins trying to get his curls under control since they became all crazy due to being unprotected from the harsh winds on Patrick's ride over here.

He catches me watching him, "You like my hair?"

"No. Actually I hate the way it's all messy like that," I say truthfully.

"So that's why you want me to wear a helmet," he says. "You don't want my hair to be all messed up."

"Hardly," I snort.

"Don't worry; I'll be sure to keep my hair in perfection every time I see you."

"Gee, thanks," I say sarcastically.

"Kat?"

I look over to see Mandella a yard or so away from me, staring warily at Patrick. "You ready?" she asks, her eyes flickering between the two of us.

I throw a glare at Patrick. "Yeah," I say and push myself away from Jude, joining her.

We start walking toward the school, and get a few yards in when I hear someone whistle behind me. Both Mandella and I, (and a few other kids,) look behind us to see who whistled.

It was Patrick.

Of course.

He smirks at me a second then begins shaking out his hair, making it go all crazy. Once it looks like the hair of a mad-man he stares me straight in the eye and winks, that stupid smirk still on his face.

I give him my most menacing glare and turn to walk into the building, Mandella almost racing to keep up with my quick steps.

"Take note Mandella. Not only do I hate Patrick Verona as a person; I want to shave his head."

* * *

okay so...here it is!!! lol. the first chapter of the story that will take forever to write lol. so...review if ya like it, review if you dont, i really couldnt care less lol.

on a side note - i was really blown away by the number of people who added this to their story alerts.....without me even writing anything!!!!!!! and i would like to thank all of you for that. that made me feel really happy and good about myself and where this story is gonna go. so thanks =)

_**DISCLAIMER: **I, Katelyn, hereby state that I, in no way shape or form, own any of these characters or any plotlines they may be associated with besides my own. So there._


	3. The Way You Drive My Car

#2 - _"I hate the way you drive my car."_

"But Kat!"

"No."

"But—"

"No."

"It's gonna be the party of the year!"

"So?"

"Patrick might be there!"

"Again…so? If anything, that's another reason for me not to go to that party."

Bianca came home from shopping with Chastity last night with five new outfits, three pairs of shoes, new lip-gloss, and news that tonight, Saturday, there was going to be a party at Doug Maro's house. And, of course, Dad said that Bianca couldn't go unless I agreed to go as chaperone. Which is how I've ended up here.

"Come on, Kat—"

"Bianca I'm not going to that party, and that's final."

Bianca makes a frustrated noise and storms toward the stairs, slamming her feet on the way up; trying to make as much noise as possible to demonstrate her anger and frustration with both me, and our father. I'd bet every one of Mom's vinyl's she wanted to flip me off and call me every dirty name in the book, but with Dad watching us from the kitchen, her hands were pretty much tied.

I sigh and walk towards the couch, wondering what's on TV besides the horror of reality shows. "How long?" My dad calls from the kitchen.

"Two days. Tops," I call back.

"I don't know, she seems rather insistent on this one," he says; walking into the living room, drying his hands on a dish towel.

I flip on the news and shrug. Whenever I refuse to follow the plan that is "Bianca's Life" she almost always throws a hissy fit and gives me the silent treatment and death glare for a day or two. Dad was right though, she _was _fairly persistent on this one. She even brought up Patrick, (which _very_ surprisingly my dad has not yet commented on. Strange.) Oh well. I didn't feel like going out tonight, which meant that Bianca wasn't going anywhere. Besides, it was good for Bianca to be home every once in awhile, and it wasn't that bad of an idea for me to be as far away as possible from the egotistical Patrick Verona.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You have to take me to that party. Now."

I raise my eyebrow questioningly. A second ago I was listening to Bob Seger's "Turn the Page" (not daydreaming about a certain sexy, smirking male) and now my sister is in my doorway, glaring at me menacingly with her hair curled, in a glittering tan tank-top and a jean mini-skirt.

"Excuse me?" I say.

She growls and stalks over to my record player, taking the needle off, before facing me again, a pleading look in her eyes.

"Please Kat, I have to go."

"Bianca be serious. One night at home will not—"

She cuts me off by rushing toward my door and slamming it, then looking at me again with mischief in her eyes.

Can someone say, mood swings?

"Fine," she says, walking toward me. "Don't take me. But I warn you; by Monday morning _every_one will know you want to have Patrick Verona's children."

Does Bianca really think I care what people know—wait, I mean _think_—about me? I mean, it's not as if it's true. The only downfall would be that Patrick would kno—_think_ that I like him. And no amount of telling him otherwise would stop the constant mocking that was sure to ensue if he thought I liked him.

"And, of course, I'll tell Dad that you lost your virginity last summer."

I widen my eyes at this. "You wouldn't…."

Her smile is smug. "Try me."

I sigh in defeat and Bianca squeals in delight, practically dancing toward the door. "I'll meet you downstairs in five. And I'd change my pants if I were you," she says, grimacing down at my pajama pants before closing my door. I can hear her humming as she walks away.

I pull the draw strings of my favorite black and blue striped pajama pants and begin rummaging through my drawers until I find a pair of black jeans.

Once properly dressed I go downstairs to see my dad and an ecstatic Bianca on the couch, the latter with a triumphant look on her face. "Alright, let's go."

"Hold up a second girls." Dad stops us at the door. "I have a few rules: No boys, No alcohol, No boys, No drugs, No boys, No sexual orgies, No boys, No shedding blood for sacrificial purposes, No boys, and No getting into dark vans with the words 'Free Candy' on them," he counts off on his fingers.

Bianca looks over at me and rolls her eyes, as if saying: _Same crap, different day_.

"And Kat," he looks me dead in the eye, "I'm counting on you to look after your sister. You're the responsible one, the reliable one, and I'm counting on you to keep your sister out of trouble."

"I know Dad." I've always known. Ever since Mom died five years ago I've always been the "responsible, reliable daughter." Sometimes it's annoying looking after Bianca all the time, but as long as she's safe I guess I can deal with it. Most days.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I pull up in front of a large house that has red, plastic cups and trashed teenagers all over the front lawn. Bianca smiles in excitement and even bounces a little in her seat. It's times like these that remind me just how young she is, and how she still has some growing up to do.

"See ya," she says, getting out of the car, flashing me a smile. "Oh," she gasps and looks back at me. "And Kat…thanks." She gives me a genuine, grateful smile before slamming the door and all but skipping towards the front door.

I sigh and navigate my way a little down the street so I can park my precious Jude somewhere safe when I let out a groan.

Parked just across the street is a familiar sleek, black motorcycle.

_What the hell is he doing here? I thought B was just kidding. He doesn't come to stupid parties like this…doesn't he?_

I flip down the mirror on my car's visor and make a scowl. Feeling confident I step out into the street and walk toward the house, avoiding as many inebriated teens as I can.

I step through the front door and instantly think that I'm going to go deaf thanks to the blasting sounds of an unfamiliar song pounding itself into my head, the bass threatening to make a crack in my skull.

I walk into a teen-laden living room and see Bianca with Chastity, her lap-dog boyfriend Joey, and a few other cheerleaders and football players. One football player especially catches my eye. He has sandy blonde hair and is dressed in a dark green polo and jeans. But it's not his looks that have caught my eye; it's the look he's giving my little sister.

They're a little off to the side from the group, talking. He says something with that glint in his eyes that only teenage boys with one thing on their minds get. Bianca laughs and puts her hand on his chest. My little sister. He's drunkenly flirting with _my_ little sister. My little, FIFTEEN year old sister. He's probably what? Sixteen? Seventeen? No wonder Bianca wanted to come here so bad. Dating an older guy, especially a jock, was a big leap in the popularity hierarchy. Only he didn't want to date her, and she was too naïve to see it.

My protective instincts instantly go through the roof when I see him put an arm around her waist, her hand still on his chest. I'm just about to storm up to them and drag Bianca home, (screw Dad finding out I'm not a virgin, just so long as Bianca stays one) when I feel a muscular chest (notably male) press up against my back. "Well, well, well…looks like my pretty little kitty is pissed. How shocking." The scowl already firmly planted on my face deepens.

I whip around to face Patrick Verona, and immediately take a step back when I notice our close proximity. "I am not _yours_, and I thought we were going to drop the pet names?"

"Oh that's right, I forgot. Sorry, doll," he says, not looking the least bit sorry or forgetful as he smirks deeper.

I turn back around to see the jock gone, my sister now talking animatedly with Chastity and another cheerleader, (I think her name is Dawn?) I decide to be the good older sister and go warn her about what I think Mr. Macho's true intentions are.

I steal a glance at the smirking man-boy behind me and amble over to her.

"Can we talk?"

Chastity looks at me as though I have the Black Plague. She gives me a hard stare, loops her arm through Dawn's, (seriously, is that her name?) turns up her nose, and stalks over to where some drunk college guys have been leering at them. I can see where Bianca gets her influences.

Speaking of which, the little blonde stares after them longingly before huffing at me. "Ugh. You ruin everything. Chastity was just starting to hint at me being a cheerleader."

It takes everything I have to not tell her that with Chastity around, she'll probably never make cheerleader. "I wanted to talk to you."

"So talk," she says, walking over to a table full of food and grabbing a handful of pretzels.

"That guy you were talking to…."

"Beau? Cute isn't he? Sure he's only a soccer player, but he's really nice, and sweet, and seems to put me in Chastity's good graces."

During the first part of her little speech she has some sort of dreamy look on her face, but it slowly disintegrated to a more diplomatic look, convincing me that she was going to be using this "Beau" just like he was going to use her. Except with her, the intentions were strictly for popularity's sake, and his could scar her for life.

"Look Bianca—"

"And he's sooo sweet. I really think he's going to ask me out next Friday, well, at least that's what Dawn says."

Well at least now I know the peppy, Asian girl's name now. "I don't think he's good for you."

She instantly turns on me with a look I know well; because it's my look.

"Look, I know you're mad you can't get Patrick but that doesn't mean we all should be deprived of a little affection."

My mouth drops in shock of my sister's sauciness and I can't help but just stand there as she walks over to where the giggling Dawn and Chastity are flirting with the frat boys.

"Never thought your sister had it in her," I hear a familiar deep voice behind me. I turn to see the smirking Patrick Verona, who, by the look in his eyes, has obviously hear my sister's outburst. "Fiery. Must be a family trait."

"Criminality. Must be a family trait."

His laugh spreads an unexpected warmth through my chest. Strange.

"And I suppose you're putting 'Stalking' into that category?" he asks, that rare but beautiful (did I REALLY just say that?!) smile still gracing his face.

"Absolutely," I say, my strong feministic side reminding me that both the warmth and his smile don't cover his jackass-ness.

"Sorry to break it to you hun, but I was at this party first, so it would seem _you _are stalking _me_. Now what do you have to say to that?" he says, his voice dropping an octave as he leans closer.

I don't know whether the butterflies in my stomach are from his closeness, or the fact that I just saw Bianca drink from a cup that Beau had just given her.

Patrick follows my eyes and then raises an eyebrow at me. "Beau Bradley. Captain of the soccer team. Junior. Not that bright. Rich, predictably. Older bro goes to UCLA on a soccer scholarship."

Now it's my turn to arch an eyebrow.

Patrick shrugs. "You'd be surprised how much you learn about people when you just shut up for a minute and watch."

His words hit home with me. My mom had gotten me into photography for that exact reason. She had said I needed to slow down and see the world for what it was, instead of just running ahead with everything.

Patrick is looking at me almost…cautiously. As though he's not quite sure he should have said that and that I'm going to start cursing him out and storm off.

But I don't. And I'm just as surprised as you are.

Instead I grab a few cheese doodles and turn to watch the fools earn their namesakes, with Patrick right beside me. He fades back into his usual laid back style and leans against the table. We stay like this for a horrendous song or two before I realize that I don't see Bianca amongst the dancing crowd anymore.

I try my hardest to remain calm as I ask Patrick, "Have you seen Bianca?"

"Lately? No," he answers, looking puzzled.

It seems to click at the exact same time:

"Beau."

Patrick grabs my hand and pushes his way through the crowd toward a massive staircase in the entryway.

"He must have slipped her something, God I cannot _believe_ I didn't even _think _about that. I mean, I _saw_ him give her the drink. How can I be so _stupid_!" I'm ranting but I'm also on borderline hysteria with worry for my little sister. My sweet, little, innocent Bianca….

Patrick listens to my rant at "how could I not see this coming" as he whisks me up the stairs, still leading and holding my hand. Of course, by the time we reach the landing, "crazy-older-sister" mode kicks in and I'm just about ready to neuter anything with balls that come in at a five foot radius.

Sensing this, Patrick says, "This way to the bedrooms," motioning to the left.

Ignoring the fact that he knows where the bedrooms are I start walking, throwing open doors and revealing couples in compromising positions in various states of undress. I ignore the shouts of protest, intent only on one thing: finding my sister.

After about four rooms (exactly who needs that many bedrooms?) I find them.

Beau (or "Satan" as he has now become to me) is straddling Bianca on a bed. She's giggling, and neither of them are wearing shirts. "BIANCA!" I shout.

She looks up at me, confused, then back at Beau, who's drunkenly trying to undo his belt.

"Get her outside, I'll be there in a minute," I hear Patrick say behind me.

I'm about to argue that I can take care of this myself when I hear Bianca whimper. I look over to see her looking scared and helpless.

My angry outburst must have brought her into her current situation, and it's obviously not looking as glamorous as was once proposed.

I nod at Patrick and shove Beau off my sister. Patrick practically drags him out of the room. I grab Bianca's sparkly top and help her get it over her head. Tears glisten in her eyes and I hold her close for a moment before helping her up. She leans on me as we walk together down the hall and stairs, everyone too drunk at this point in the party to notice us.

I manage to get Bianca down the street to my car where Patrick is already leaning against the door, his knuckles red. As I put a now sobbing Bianca in the back seat, I can't help but stare at them. He raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment.

"You should stay in the back with her," he says.

"Then who is going to drive exactly?"

"Me?" he says, looking puzzled, as though there isn't any other way for me to get home than him driving me.

"How about…no."

"How about…your sister is crying in the backseat and needs her sister to comfort her right now."

Damn him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Slow down! You're driving like a maniac!" I say as Patrick speeds _my_ Jude through the streets.

"Oh calm down, I'm a great driver."

"Are you kidding me?! You're going to get us all killed!"

"Well then maybe you should be wearing a helmet," he looks back at me through the mirror with a smirk and winks.

"Shut up," I huff and look down at Bianca who passed out after a minute or so of sobbing violently in my arms.

I sigh and look up as Patrick runs a red light.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Four red lights run and nine stop signs ignored later, Patrick stops in front of my house.

"You better hope a cop doesn't show up on my front door step tomorrow morning, 'cause I'm sending him right your way if he does."

Patrick laughs and gets out of the car.

I glare at nothing in particular as I try to rouse Bianca to a semi-conscious state. Patrick opens up the door to the backseat, "Need some help?" His voice is genuinely caring.

"No I got it," I say softly.

He nods and backs his head out of the car.

I manage to get Bianca to kind of open her eyes, but she seems a little woozy. With some help from Patrick (damn) we manage to get her out of the car and leaning against me again.

I look up at him.

"How you gonna get back to your bike?"

"I'll just call a cab from the street corner or something."

I nod.

"Be sure to put some aspirin and water by her bed, she'll need it."

I nod again.

"So…."

"So."

"I'll see you Monday."

The only thing I can seem to do is nod.

Patrick turns away and begins walking down to the sidewalk.

"Patrick, wait."

He turns, cocking his head to the side.

"…Thanks."

He walks up to me and places a calloused hand on my neck, his thumb running over my cheek.

"You're welcome."

We stay like this for what seems like forever, his touch spreading a wildfire through my veins, making my feel dizzy and as if I had a fever; but in such a good way. Then it's gone and he's walking down the drive.

But the fire remains. The memory of his hand etches itself into my mind, as well as the fire and heat it brought.

I shake my head a bit to get myself under control and lead Bianca up the walkway and through the door, without a single look back at Patrick.

"Bianca! Kat, what happened?! Were you girls hurt?! Kidnapped?! Forced into a 'Free Candy' van?!"

"Dad we're fine, Bianca was just dancing and running around with friends so much that she fell asleep on the ride home."

He looked skeptical but let me bring Bianca upstairs with false assurances that we were both okay.

After putting Bianca in her bed, and placing some aspirin and a glass of water on the nightstand, I changed back into the pajama pants I was in earlier and laid on my bed to think.

I was obviously going to kill Beau, (though I think Patrick might have beat me to it,) and have a nice long talk with Bianca about drinking unknown liquids given to her at parties.

And then there was Patrick. He had done so much: helped me find Bianca, drove us home, kept me from killing Beau…then killing Beau himself. So little when you thought about it, but it meant so much to me. And, of course, how could I forget the butterflies that fluttered in my stomach every time I thought of the intense look of his eyes tonight, or the remembrance of his warm hand cradling my face….

Monday. What about Monday? Would we talk about it? Maybe a sarcastic comment about my out-of-control little sister? Or maybe we would talk about the way his hand felt on my skin, making me light-headed and weak-kneed. The way I wanted to press me lips to his and leave my sister in the driveway and go off somewhere with his, if only to gaze into his eyes for awhile….

No.

He was a womanizing douche bag and I would not fall for him, I refuse to. This was the second thing on my list of things to never do: fall for Patrick Verona. Right after never letting Patrick Verona drive my car.

…Shit.

* * *

omg...i am SOOOOOOOOO SORRY!!!!!!!!! i did not expect it to take THAT LONG to right another chapter...i wish i could promise that the wait will never be that long again but i cant. although thanksgiving break is coming up kinda soon-ish so thatll give me more time to write.

so anyway...i know the ending sucks and there was barely any Kat/Pat interaction but i want really sure what to do for the whole "the way you drive me car" thing...i think i rewrote this chapter a thousand times in my head before this came out and i dont even like it that much...o well. maybe ill revise it before startin reason#3.....or not. lol

review if ya like, review if ya dont

_**DISCLAIMER: **I, Katelyn, hereby state that I, in no way shape or form, own any of these characters or any plotlines they may be associated with besides my own. So there._


	4. My Apologies The End

First off, I would like to say I am very sorry for leaving you all hanging and not continuing this story. For those who have commented and wanted the story to go on, I would like to thank you very much but…I'm afraid the story ends here. I had high hopes for this story and every once in a while I'll find the notes I had for this and smile, but the drive is gone (as you can tell after a year and a half of no updates) and I think it is WAY past the time to change the status of this piece to: Completed.

I am very sorry to those who were excited for this story (I know I was), and if you would like to take on this idea, go ahead, I would love to read it. You may even ask for some of my ideas if needed!

Take care, and be on the lookout for my new story about Bella Goth from the Sims! (Coming sometime this summer!)

Your fellow fanfiction addict,

skittles324


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